One by One, They Will Fall
by Salysha
Summary: They were the best of the best; they formed the Fellowship of the Ring. One by one, the Ring destroyed them all. The tale of the ominous journey from Rivendell to Amon Hen rewritten. Angst, AU.
1. Touched by the Darkness

**July 2010: This story has gone untouched for seven years. At this point, I am not sure if it will be continued. As I look at the author's notes in each chapter, I feel enormous pride: the patient, generous help and guidance I have received on this story from so many excellent authors is staggering. I cannot help feeling truly privileged.**

**The time that has elapsed is not an issue; completing the story is a motivator on its own and speaks for continuing the task I once started. I would also be pleased to complete a story that has had so much help from so many authors, for which, again, my deepest and sincerest thanks.**

**Reasons that speak against continuing the story are twofold: as I look at the story, it feels too movie-thriven. While it was going to wander off to more literary paths, novelizing a story already told wasn't my intention. Another reason is that while this story waited for updates, I started another one, "Broken," for which I inadvertently planned almost the same ending. The stories are different in tone and execution, not to mention champion in different ratings and genres, but their outcome will be the same.**

**For now, I leave the story status as in-progress. I also take the opportunity to express my cordial thanks to everyone who has reviewed and followed the story over the years!**

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**Disclaimer:** The characters within belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This is nonprofit fan fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

**Introduction:** They formed the Fellowship of the Ring; they held the fate of all Middle-earth in their hands. It was on top of Amon Hen that things became critical.

**Notes:** The story is an AU based on both the book- and the movieverse. The first three chapters are mainly narrative and rewrite the original works; the later chapters are AU and more dialogue-based.

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**One by One, They Will Fall**

by Salysha

* * *

**Chapter 1: Touched by the Darkness**

It was Gandalf's death that drove them over the edge. He was the only one who truly understood the evil lurking in the One Ring. When he was gone, fallen to his fiery grave in the Mines of Moria, there were none left to protect the Fellowship from the malice of the Ring. They were righteous men, the best of the best among their respective races, but they could not fight the power of the One Ring.

At the Council of Elrond in Rivendell, Frodo had not been certain whether he had made the right choice by offering to take the Ring to be cast into the fires of Mount Doom. His uncertainty lessened a great deal when Lord Elrond approved his decision and several skilled warriors, along with Gandalf and his hobbit friends, vowed to protect him and to aid his cause. The Fellowship of the Ring was formed and thus set off to its destination.

For forty days, they journeyed across the Misty Mountains. The first one to be enchanted by the Ring's evil powers was Boromir. After picking it up from the snow where Frodo had dropped it, he simply held it by its chain and wondered at its beauty. The Ring kept faintly whispering his name, promising him the safety of his people and possession of all worldly goods. Aragorn spoke, breaking Boromir out of his reverie.

"Boromir! Return the Ring to Frodo," commanded Aragorn.

Only the three of them were there together; all others were already far ahead. The halfling notwithstanding, there was only one man standing between Boromir and the tempting Ring. The temptation was cruel, but honor won and Boromir handed the Ring to its bearer, pretending nonchalance.

"I would not keep it," replied Boromir. His narrowed eyes contradicted the even tone.

The men's gazes met and, for a moment, Aragorn's eyes reflected something close to understanding. Then the moment was broken, and the unease and the sense of rivalry returned. The incidence worried Frodo, and thereon, he watched Boromir closely. If he had suspicions of the Man's susceptibility, he did not speak them aloud.

The appearance of Saruman's winged spies forced them to head to the pass of Caradhras, only to be stopped by the icy winds and avalanches Saruman sent to defeat them. The Fellowship was in relatively good spirits, considering the circumstances, until the decision of passing through Moria was made. It was the choice that sealed their fate. Gandalf must have sensed that, somehow, for never again did even the faintest smile cross his lips.

In Moria, they defeated the orcs, and later the goblins. The Ring was cunning; it whispered to them when the silence became too great a burden to bear. It waited until they were too weary to resist its dark temptation. In the heat of the battle, too, it was always there, suggesting and seducing. The Ring soon discovered that its bearer was the most resilient of them all. Instead, it turned to the strongest warriors in the Fellowship: it focused its evil charm on Aragorn and Boromir.

* * *

Aragorn was keeping watch the night that the Ring attacked him. The day had been toilsome, and they had moved ahead sluggishly. Gandalf's hesitation about the route had been more unnerving than he had let show. It was not like the wizard to appear so lost and indecisive, and Aragorn suspected that it had, in fact, been Gimli, whose instincts had found them the way and a refuge for the night. The Company was getting nervous, and the darkness of Moria obviously disheartened Frodo and the other hobbits.

Suddenly, a strange thought came to him: what if he had the Ring? Would it not solve their problems; would it not make the suffering of the little Ring-bearer unnecessary? He chuckled at himself; the hard day was starting to affect his thinking. Another similar idea took his fancy, and he grew worried. Something was amiss, or else he would not be plagued by such foolish thoughts.

_Are they foolish?_ someone whispered to him. _Are you not the king's heir; is the Ring not rightfully yours?_ Suggestions filled Aragorn's mind and lulled him to sweet daydreams, even though he realized in his heart that this was the Ring's evil doing. The thoughts were... pleasant, and furthermore, they made a point. It was _his_ Ring...

Shocked at himself, Aragorn tried to block out the intrusive calls and focus on anything else. The ill thoughts must be abandoned. He quickly found that this could not be accomplished, no matter how hard he tried, and the voices did not leave him. He did not call for help; how could he have? He just sat on his post, trembling slightly, feeling almost physical pain from trying to block out such powerful calls. It continued for what seemed like ages and then...

"Aragorn?" Boromir had awoken and was looking at him in inquiry.

The voices disappeared as though they had been struck. Aragorn's eyes fluttered and he would have sighed out of relief, had it not been for Boromir watching him. "Go back to sleep," he said gruffly.

"I would rather not. It is my time to watch," replied Boromir with a smirk. The conceited smile irritated Aragorn, and he would have replied with a warning glare, but only this time, he wrapped up in his bedroll and was asleep in an instant. He did not dream—nor was he tempted again during that night.

Unbeknownst to Aragorn, he was left alone because the Ring had another victim to torment. During his watch, Boromir sat on a stone, as expressions of pain and hesitation switched back and forth on his face...

* * *

The Ring-calls continued to hunt Aragorn and Boromir night and day. The warriors tried to ignore them and keep the whispering voices out of their heads, but with little success. It seemed only a matter of time until the first one would fall.

On the outside, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Inside, the temptation burned within both men. Alarmed by the Caradhras incident, Frodo kept a close watch on Boromir. While the Gondorian gave occasional uneasy glances at him, Frodo could not detect anything alarming. Yet a little voice kept nagging inside his head, telling him he was missing something crucial. He did not realize Boromir was not the only one tempted by the Ring.

Something happened then, something that momentarily broke the Ring's power: they lost Gandalf in a battle on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. Aragorn, who had begun to fall into darkness, woke with a start. He fiercely forced the others out of the mines, slaying any goblins that dared block their way. Boromir was stupefied, and the Ring remained silent for a while for fear of driving him away. The Ring did not care, for it had found new victims.

Legolas remained unwavering to an inexperienced eye, but in reality, he was shocked. It was the first time during this journey his psychic barriers fell and the whispers invaded his thoughts. The Ring did not promise him the power it had tempted the Men with; instead, he was somehow convinced that abandoning the mission would be for the good of Mirkwood, that his beloved homeland would become the Greenwood it had once been.

He did not understand whence these feelings emerged, but nonetheless, chose to shrug them off. The thoughts stayed there and created new illusions of what good would come, should he follow the call. Suddenly very afraid, he forcibly blocked the calls invading his subconscious mind, but it was too late: he had already been touched by the darkness. Thereon, the darkness would always be his companion, urging him to yield to temptation.

Gimli the Dwarf was more fortunate. He had been shocked by the deaths of Gandalf and his cousin Balin. He had faced the ruined state of Khazad-dûm, once so full of life, and now only ashes and dust. Yet, for some reason, the Ring did not assault him as fiercely as it did Legolas or the Men. He, too, felt the Ring calling him, but not with such intensity.

The hobbits were shaken and, moreover, they felt alone. Gandalf was the only one they had known in the Fellowship. He may not have been the entertaining, old, firework-casting wizard they had thought him to be, but they had at least known him to an extent.

Merry and Pippin sought comfort in each other, while Sam and Frodo kept to themselves. Frodo felt the Ring suffocating him; it drained his life. He began to stumble forward blindly and when Aragorn called him, he just gazed at him with eyes full of sorrow. Aragorn's voice was sharp and commanding, and his eyes bore into Frodo's with almost violent intensity. It was then that Frodo realized that Aragorn, too, would be seduced by the Ring.

That realization made a deep cut to his soul: he would be betrayed by the one who had sworn to protect his life even at the cost of his own. Gandalf was gone, Boromir was losing the battle, and Aragorn—though he seemed to be in his right mind at the moment—would fall. Legolas, Gimli, and his friends seemed untouched, but too much was at stake for him to rely on that. Careful not to reveal his emotional hurt, Frodo waited for the rest of the Company to catch up with him.

The journey continued in low spirits. A deafening silence hung between them. It gave Frodo time to think, although he had already made up his mind. He would continue the quest alone when he could. He had no other choice. Fortunately, he could not hear Sauron's wicked laughter or see the Eye blaze more brightly than ever.

**To Be Continued...**

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**Huge thanks **to all my betas: **Architeuchtis** for excellent proofreading and suggestions which made me want to develop the fic further; **Kitty-Rose** for coming to my help and doing the check-up beta'ing; **al** (alliwantisanelfforchristmas) for yet another proofreading and bunch of stylistic advice.

**Published** August 19, 2002. Revised September 2003. Revised 2010.


	2. In the Realm of Shadows

**Chapter 2: In the Realm of Shadows**

After the loss of Gandalf, Aragorn became the leader of the Fellowship. The matter was never really discussed amongst the Company; the son of Arathorn slipped into the role of the leader inconspicuously.

The journey toward Mount Doom took them into the mythic Elven realm of Lothlórien despite Gimli the Dwarf's objections. It was a tale told among the Dwarves that a powerful Elvish sorceress dwelled in the woods of Lórien, where seldom anyone dared enter and whence none returned. Boromir, too, was skeptical about the wisdom of the route.

"The warning signs are not to be taken lightly, Aragorn. I have heard ill tales about these woods. You have taken us along dangerous paths, and I only hope you are not leading us into peril."

"It was Gandalf's plan to seek the way to Lothlórien. Unless you wish to return to Moria and therefrom head for Minas Tirith, there is no other way," replied Aragorn. His words were met with silence and the discussion was not brought up again, as the truth of his words went unquestioned.

The Fellowship was downcast, but their spirits had begun to improve as each member came to terms with the loss of Gandalf. To an inexperienced eye, the Fellowship seemed to be holding together as well as they had before entering the fateful Moria. However, their minds were in turmoil, and the Ring used its malicious charm to take advantage of it.

Aragorn was constantly on edge. He hid his anxiety well, but at times, the tension broke to the surface: he was absent-minded or snapped a word here and there, and he reacted tensely to the sound of the slightest noise.

They were sitting by a campfire when Aragorn stood up suddenly and reached for his sword-hilt. Soon, the others heard a rustle of leaves, and then the familiar form of Boromir stepped into the light of the campfire. Aragorn sighed and sat down again, fixing his eyes on the fire. Boromir dropped the firewood and came to sit beside him. Gimli and the hobbits, save Frodo, were enjoying the fire, too; Legolas was nowhere to be seen, and the Ring-bearer lay hidden in the shadows just barely within the camp area.

"Is something amiss?" asked Boromir casually. He threw a sidelong glance at Aragorn, who raised an eyebrow in response. "Your unease is most unnerving," he continued.

Aragorn managed a smile and replied, "No, nothing is wrong. I fear this campfire may attract enemies."

Aragorn's eyes never left the fire. The warmth of the flames was friendly and welcoming, and yet they reminded him of the flames of the Balrog in Moria. The dreadful events were fresh in his memory; he could not bring himself to forget how close he had been to giving in to the Ring's temptation, and he blamed himself for Gandalf having to sacrifice himself.

Aragorn's bleak thoughts were cut off by Sam, who had sensed the tenseness and interrupted in his delightful manner. "The fire is very welcome, Strider. We'll be finally able to fix something decent to eat."

Aragorn could not help but smile at this. Hobbits were such an indomitable race: even at the moment of deepest grief, they thought of eating. He suppressed a chuckle and replied with a smile, "Really, Sam? Haven't the day's four meals satisfied your yearning for food?"

Sam blushed and muttered something about leading a "healthy and decent life for a hobbit." Sam's aim to lighten up their moods had succeeded, and Merry and Pippin started a good-natured argument about food. Sam scouted around for his Master and found him hidden in the shadows, sitting against a tree-trunk. For a moment, Sam considered going to him, but then abandoned the thought. Frodo obviously did not want their company, and he grieved his Master's withdrawal bitterly.

Frodo barely noticed the talks by the campfire, for he was preoccupied with his own thoughts. He still thought back to the pain and shock he had felt outside Moria at the realization that he could not trust even his oath-sworn protector. For days, he had kept a close eye on the Fellowship, especially on the men, watching for any signs of their yielding to the lure of the Ring. The gravity of his thoughts was not revealed to anyone, but the Eye watched the Ring-bearer's torment with wicked contentment.

Legolas soon returned to the campsite, wearing his normal mask of tranquility. His absence was not questioned, as all assumed he has been sure the surroundings were secure. He never told how he had gone to sit under the beloved trees to fight against the pain. Ever since the Ring had found a way to get to him, to whisper sweet little things and lure him with all its might, he had been suffering from increasingly painful headaches.

Legolas was at the mercy of an enemy far more perilous than any orc or other foul being in Middle-earth. The elf could not yet make out the words the Ring spoke, but the whispering made his head throb in pain. If he was ever caught rubbing his temples, he would just stop and retreat before anyone could wonder about the headaches that the Elves were not supposed to have. His absences, such as this one, went unquestioned or even unnoticed.

Gimli had no such worries as he sat by the campfire, listening to the hobbits' debate with amusement. He was still spared from the painful torment of Isildur's Bane. Perhaps there was something about the dwarf with which the Ring not comfortable, something it did not wish to awaken. Maybe it was the isolated nature of the Dwarves, the way they lived in the solitary mountain caves, that had blessed Gimli with a resistance comparable to that of the Hobbits, who had hidden from the world for centuries.

Surely the dwarf and even the young hobbits could feel the Ring reach tentatively for them, but the evil charm did not affect them the way it seduced the men and pained the elf. At the moment, the Ruling Ring did not seek new slaves; it strove to cause havoc and disarray amongst the Fellowship. On the outside, they seemed like a company resting at their campsite, but more was going on under the surface than anyone could have guessed.

* * *

With each member fighting his inner demons, the Fellowship entered the Golden Wood. Even Gimli, who was suspicious of their chosen path, silently agreed with Legolas, who praised the beauty of the woods passionately. The lush forest was not only green, but also seemed to shine in faint gold, reminding Gimli of the precious metal. Pippin picked a green leaf from the ground and yelped from delight when it cast a faint golden ray at him before fading to common dark green.

The forest was wonderful and magical, but also perilous. The Company had not paid enough attention to possible threat and soon paid the price of their carelessness: quick as shadows, three Elf-warriors emerged from the trees above. Not even Legolas, usually swift to react, could act before he was faced with sharp arrows, ready to be fired from the drawn bows.

However, the elves did not seem concerned with him or the Fellowship in general. They fixed their stares at Gimli, who glared back in rage. Aragorn carefully stepped in front to speak with the elves. There was an exchange in Elvish and soon Legolas joined the conversation, too. To the surprise of the others, the elves then lowered their bows and one of them gave a laugh.

"Did you think you could enter the realm of the Lady in secret?" their leader said in common tongue, amused. "She has known of your arrival long before." Then his smile faded and he gave a meaningful look to Gimli, who had little trouble noting the elf's obvious distaste for him.

At this point, Legolas spoke on his own accord and argued over something with his kinsmen. Aragorn remained silent and listened intently while the others wondered what was happening. The elves reached an agreement of some sort, and Legolas spoke to the Company.

"The Elves of Lórien will take us to the city. They say that the Lady of the Wood has been expecting us."

"My Lady has been expecting the hobbits," the leader said. "I am Haldir, and the Lady Galadriel requests that you follow us. Indeed, you have little choice in the matter." Again, the elf cast a disdainful look at Gimli and continued, "The Lady wishes that the dwarf would accompany you." It was evident how Haldir felt about the Lady's order. Before Gimli or anyone else had a chance to respond, he said:

"The dwarf must, of course, be blindfolded. We cannot let just anyone see the secrets of the Wood."

"What kind of a fool do you take me for? I shall be dead before surrendering to such folly!" Gimli roared as he took his axe in his hand. In response, the Elves of Lórien drew their bows again with deadly swiftness.

In silence, the opponents eyed each other, and it could have ended in bloodshed, had Aragorn not intervened.

"Calm yourself, Gimli," he spoke. "Do not make this harder for all of us." His quick squeeze on Gimli's shoulder told that he was more anxious than what he let on.

"They question the trustworthiness of my kindred and me. I shall not let the insult pass!"

"Gimli...," Aragorn said in a low voice. "This is the time neither for pride nor stubbornness. Lower your axe."

Gimli snorted in response and held his weapon even tighter. The company watched in silence as Aragorn whispered something to Gimli, who gnarled in response. Aragorn's stature stiffened and he spoke to Gimli once more, only to be met by adamant resistance.

As tension grew higher, Legolas' headache got the better of him and he snapped at Gimli. "Dwarves and their stiff necks!" he cried. "Agree to the request. **T**hey have the right to ask it."

The sudden outburst from the usually composed elf raised a few eyebrows in the Fellowship, but it provoked Gimli even further and soon he and Legolas got into a heated argument that could not bear repeating. They were cut off by Aragorn losing his patience.

"Silence!" he snapped. Aragorn faced the Elf-warriors and spoke, "We need not be treated differently from Gimli. If he must be blindfolded by your law or order, then we shall all travel blindfolded as a Company, take it as long as it may."

Legolas was about to protest, but Aragorn cast him such a furious look that he was taken aback and chose to remain silent. Aragorn forced Gimli's axe down with his hand and said gruffly to both of them, "Deal with your own grudges another time."

His unexpected anger quieted everybody. Members of the Company allowed the blindfolding and began their travel to the city in reticence. The silence was partly due to the lack of a mutual tongue; only Haldir, the leader of the Elf-warriors, spoke Westron in his slow and careful manner. The others, who were at some point introduced as his brothers Rúmil and Orophin, spoke only their own Elvish tongue.

* * *

The journey took several days, but they fared without further confrontations. Even at night-time the elves guarded them, making sure that they would not slip off their blindfolds. Eventually the guards and the captives reached the border of the City of the Trees, and the blinding cloths were removed. Legolas, especially, seemed to forget about his grudge the moment he set his eyes upon the beauty of Lothlórien. The city, built in perfect harmony with the trees, shone faint light which, together with trees' natural luminance, made the bordering woods glitter with gold.

"Elbereth," Boromir whispered. Sam wasn't any more subtle with his exclamation, "Wonderful!" and was met with approving mumbling.

Haldir didn't allow them to dwell on the sight for too long. He was in a haste to enter the city, and he led the others onward over a journey that was longer than what met the eye. Once they entered the city through the northern gate, Haldir led them to a tall tree-tower to meet the rulers of Lothlórien, Galadriel and Celeborn. They followed obediently, though Gimli's expression told clearly that he would rather have stayed behind.

* * *

The meeting with the Lord and the Lady was not as intimidating as they had feared. The Lady Galadriel, beautiful yet cold as ice, greeted the Company in friendship. However, soon the Lord Celeborn questioned them about Gandalf the Grey's absence. The mood changed into a less welcoming one when Aragorn spoke the gloomy news of the fall of Mithrandir. Grief descended upon Lothlórien, and beautiful Elvish voices began a lament for the great Istari. while the Lady Galadriel continued her formal greetings that spoke of evil and the great burden they carried. Then, the sorceress uttered the ominous words:

"Hope remains as long as the Fellowship is without deceit."

It could have been considered a fair warning, but the Fellowship took it like a personal threat. A new tension settled among the remaining eight. Frodo felt his breath hasten at this sudden change in atmosphere and, when glancing at the others, saw that they seemed to change somehow, one by one. Galadriel, bewitchingly beautiful and graceful, spoke in an even tone, but something else took place at the same time. Boromir drew a sudden breath and fixed his eyes upon the Lady. Aragorn had bowed his head, but suddenly drew it up and stared at the sorceress as if seeing her for the first time. Legolas' eyes flickered barely noticeably. Then Frodo heard a voice saying:

Welcome to Lothlórien, Frodo of the Shire.

Frodo startled at the sudden voice inside his head and glanced around to see if anyone else had heard it. No one seemed to have noticed except Sam, who shot him a concerned glance. Frodo shrugged it off and concentrated on the melodious voice of Galadriel in his mind.

You have traveled a perilous journey, Frodo Baggins. Rest, for you are safe in Lothlórien. Galadriel smiled ever so slightly and gazed intently at Frodo.

_I trust your word, Milady. I am weary, and so are others._

You still have a long journey to go. Great perils lie ahead of you. Galadriel's smile faded away.

_I do not know what threatens me so. Speak your words of advice, Milady, and I will obey your warning._ Frodo was desperate for an answer and begged her council with his eyes. The Elf-queen seemed hesitant, and Frodo feared she had taken offense somehow. Then, the voice whispered to him once more:

He will try to take the Ring. You know of whom I speak.

The Lady ceased her speech of welcome, which had continued throughout the private exchange, and urged the Fellowship to take the opportunity to rest. She then left the premises with the Lord Celeborn. The servants came to guide the eight to their resting place, but Frodo paid no attention to them. _"You know of whom I speak."_ Galadriel's words echoed in his mind, but truthfully, the Ring-bearer had no idea.

**T.B.C.**

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**Huge thanks **to all my betas: **Architeuchtis**, for the excellent proofreading and suggestions which made me want to develop the fic further; **Kitty-Rose**, for coming to my help and doing the check-up betaing;** al**, (alliwantisanelfforchristmas) for yet another proofreading and bunch of stylistic advice. This chapter needed much revision in both grammatical and literary aspects, and I appreciate all the trouble she went through.

**Revised** May and September 2003. Revised 2010.


	3. Into the Unknown

**Chapter 3: Into the Unknown**

Night-time had fallen in Lothlórien, and the Fellowship had settled down. The elvish voices lamenting for Gandalf had not yet ceased, but they had quieted and become even more grief-stricken than before. When earlier the younger hobbits had questioned Legolas about the words they sang, the elf had looked at them with pained eyes and refrained from telling them by saying:

"I dare not say, for the grief is too near to my heart."

None had the heart to push the forlorn elf further, and they quietly settled down in their dormitory. Aragorn and Boromir engaged in a quiet conversation, but it was not long before they too retired to bed. The others drifted to sleep, but Frodo was restless and found sleep evading him. He finally rose and and started for the main hall. He climbed down the stone stairs and walked by a stone pool filled with clear liquid.

"I knew you would come."

With a start, Frodo realized he was not alone, for the Lady Galadriel had a silently walked down the other stairs leading into the hall.

"Do you wish to look into the Mirror of Galadriel, Frodo Baggins?"

"Why? What will this mirror tell me?"

"Things that were, things that are, things that are yet to become true. The Mirror depicts possibilities. The question is, young Ring-bearer: do you have the courage to see?" said Galadriel as she poured more liquid into the water pool. She stepped back and urged Frodo to glance at the glimmering water.

The hobbit neared the Mirror warily. He drew a breath and forced himself to look into the water. At first, he saw nothing but the bottom of the pool through the transparent liquid. Then, images began to form. He saw himself leaving the Shire with Sam, and he saw himself and the others traveling to Rivendell. The flood of images stopped abruptly and startled the hobbit. The Lady Galadriel stood by, regal and unattainable, silently observing him.

Then the water began to whirl again. and new images formed. Frodo saw familiar faces. The Fellowship, he realized, like one just fully woken. He saw the faces of his friends; he saw Legolas the Elf look at him in pain and Aragorn bow his head just a moment too late to conceal his eyes, burning with anger and something Frodo did not quite recognize. The water began to whirl more and more wildly with every second and the images became distorted. They appeared and dissipated rapidly, and it was nearly impossible to make sense to them.

Frodo stared at the Mirror with horror, and still Galadriel did not speak. The things Frodo saw were not to be described with words; they were images of misery, pain, and hopelessness. He saw raging fires, a white city being burned to the ground, and then he saw a man who hid his face. He only guessed it was a man since the figure was tall and dressed in a warrior's clothes. There was something familiar about the figure, but Frodo could not identify him.

Then the man turned around, his sword raised, and Frodo found himself drawn to his fiery eyes, blazing brightly as a raging fire. Suddenly, Frodo felt himself being drawn to the image bodily. The Ring was pulling him to the Mirror so forcefully that the hobbit could feel burning marks form into his neck. Frodo pulled himself as far away from the Mirror as possible, and the last image he saw before falling on his back was the image of the man being covered in a dark shroud.

Frodo lay on the ground, panting, when Galadriel spoke: "You see now, Frodo Baggins? You cannot fail. Unless you destroy the Ring, the evil will prevail."

"I do not understand, fair Lady. How am I to accomplish that?"

"You must find a way. Neither I nor any other can help you with that. If you do not find a way, no one will."

"I—"

"I know the uncertainty in your mind. Fear not, young Ring-bearer; when the time comes, you will know what to do."

With that, Galadriel left before Frodo had the chance to further question her. He sat for a while, thinking about what had just happened, before returning to the dormitory. He silently lay on his bed and let out a sorrowful sigh. Samwise had woken up earlier, wondering about the absence of his Master, but had not dared go after him. Now he reached out to Frodo and whispered quietly:

"Mr. Frodo? Where have you been at this hour?" Upon receiving no answer, he whispered again with a bit more urgency:

"Mr. Frodo?"

"What is it, Sam? You should be soundly asleep," said Frodo, thinking of sleep as a luxury he himself could no longer afford.

"What is wrong, Mr. Frodo?"

"Nothing," replied Frodo, though he wanted to say, "Everything."

* * *

After resting a fair number of days in Lothlórien, the Fellowship continued on its way by water. They gathered their gear into three Elvish boats. Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam occupied the first boat; Boromir, Merry, and Pippin occupied the second, and Legolas and Gimli, the third. The Lord and the Lady of Lothlórien stood on the bank, along with Haldir and other elves to bid them a safe journey. As the boats drew away from the safety of Lothlórien, Frodo gazed at Galadriel one last time and heard the elvish sorceress whisper in his mind, Farewell.

They paddled their boats along the great Anduin, making only the briefest stops before retiring for the night. The journey went downstream and they were able to travel a great distance in only one day. Their order remained unchanged, which brought certain tension to the Fellowship. After the blindfolding incident, Legolas and Gimli had revived the old spirit of hostility between their races, and they traveled in icy silence. The silence was broken by a warning cry.

"Beware of the rock! Quick, to the left!" Gimli cried with urgency in his voice. Had it not been for Gimli's warning, they would have hit a sharp rock. Legolas managed to avoid the rock, but still the sharp edges drew a cut on their delicate boat. Gimli, who was suspicious of the boat and distrustful of his companion, drew a sharp breath.

"Curse the Elves and their negligence. Give a Wood-Elf a boat, and you shall fear for your mortal life," he muttered angrily. Legolas did not turn but his stature stiffened. It was obvious that he had heard. The silence of the elf unnerved Gimli and he spoke again, this time with a louder voice, "Had it not been for my vigilance, we would have been killed several times already."

Legolas did not respond, which surprised Gimli. It was unlike the elf to let an insult pass. As the journey went on, they experienced more dangerous situations from which only Gimli's attentiveness saved them. The dwarf was getting frustrated and his words became harsh. Not even the memory of the fair Lady Galadriel could hold his tongue. Legolas was quiet and never returned the insults. He even apologized to Gimli, which seemed to unsettle the dwarf even more than his carelessness. Legolas' quietness eventually got to Gimli, and the cautionary, dispassionate remarks became routine in their boat.

Legolas was angry at himself. If his inattention continued, the dwarf would surely suspect something. Even a _dwarf_ would have to notice. He tried to focus on the boat, but met little success. Sometimes he halted paddling to rub his temples briefly, being always careful not to let the dwarf notice. If Gimli did notice or have his suspicions that something was wrong, he never spoke of it.

* * *

The mood in Boromir's canoe was not so downcast. Not even the troubled atmosphere would quiet such cheerful hobbits as Pippin and Merry. As if by an unvoiced agreement, they did not speak of their task but of happier times. While the youngest hobbits shared tales of the Shire, Boromir would talk about Minas Tirith, the white town of his kin. He would speak passionately about the glory of Gondor before sinking into memories.

"I dare say you have never witnessed such glory as can be found in Minas Tirith. Not Rivendell of the Elves, not even the fair Lothlórien, can ever evoke such fire in me as the white town of my ancestors, the crown jewel of Men. It is a sight to see..."

* * *

Not much was spoken among the last three of the Company. Samwise would occasionally make a conversational remark to which Aragorn would reply absent-mindedly and which Frodo would most of the times let pass. Aragorn paddled with even strokes, leading the line of boats. At times, he would reward Sam's attempts and tell a brief story of the Elves, even hum a few lines of ancient tales, long-forgotten among most peoples of Middle-earth. The sight of the monumental statues of the Argonath led him to a brief reminiscence of his ancestry.

"Behold that sight," he cried. "Can you see the statues yonder? They are the Argonath, ancient carvings of the Númenoreans. They are the mighty kings, Elendil and Isildur."

"I see," replied Frodo curtly. He stared intently at the figures, especially at the one whom Aragorn had pointed out as Isildur.

"They are very impressive, Strider," said Sam quickly, glancing at Frodo reproachfully.

"They are, very much so." Aragorn gazed at the figures intently and whispered barely audibly, "They were the kings of Men..." He shook out of his reverie and, noticing the hobbits look at him quizzically, he laughed, abashed. "Long have I wished to see these monuments of my ancestors. This is one sight I have not witnessed on my many travels."

The hobbits smiled politely and faced the river ahead again. Frodo was fascinated by the sight of the Argonath, and would every so often return his gaze at the mighty figures. Apparently, so did Aragorn, who would have steered the boat into a half-hidden rock, had itnot been for Sam's outcry. His lapse was not lost on Boromir, who caught up with them and suggested that they should start seeking refuge for the night. Aragorn agreed with him and they waited for Legolas and Gimli to draw near. Together they all started searching for a suitable camping place. Finally, Legolas spotted a sheltered cove and suggested it to Aragorn.

"Very well. Tonight we shall camp on Amon Hen."

**T.B.C.**

* * *

**The challenge**: Who is it? Who will be the first to fall? The next chapter, titled "Falling", will shed light on the question, but do not hesitate to make a guess. Feedback is welcome and I very much thank the previous readers and reviewers for their attention.

**Huge**** thanks** to all my betas: **Architeuchtis**, for the excellent proofreading and suggestions which made me want to develop the fic further; **Kitty-Rose**, for coming to my help and doing the check-up beta'ing; **al**, (alliwantisanelfforchristmas) for yet another round of proofreading and a bunch of stylistic advice.

**Revised** September 2003. Revised 2010.


	4. Falling

**July 2010: This story has gone untouched for seven years. At this point, I am not sure if it will be continued. As I look at the author's notes in each chapter, I feel enormous pride: the patient, generous help and guidance I have received on this story from so many excellent authors is staggering. I cannot help feeling truly privileged.**

**The time that has elapsed is not an issue; completing the story is a motivator on its own and speaks for continuing the task I once started. I would also be pleased to complete a story that has had so much help from so many authors, for which, again, my deepest and sincerest thanks.**

**Reasons that speak against continuing the story are twofold: as I look at the story, it feels too movie-thriven. While it was going to wander off to more literary paths, novelizing a story already told wasn't my intention. Another reason is that while this story waited for updates, I started another one, "Broken," for which I inadvertently planned almost the same ending. The stories are different in tone and execution, not to mention champion in different ratings and genres, but their outcome will be the same.**

**For now, I leave the story status as in-progress. I also take the opportunity to express my cordial thanks to everyone who has reviewed and followed the story over the years!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Falling**

The canoes were directed into the cove and the Fellowship went ashore. Aragorn and Legolas went scouting ahead while Boromir and Gimli unpacked the boats with the help of the hobbits. Every so often, Boromir would glance thoughtfully at Frodo, who felt uneasy about the attention. He was about to question Boromir when Aragorn returned and said that the area seemed secure.

Legolas returned to the camp a good while later. Aragorn went up to him with a frown on his face.

"Is something wrong? I did not find signs of the enemy."

"Neither did I. I am not so worried about them...," Legolas halted and closed his eyes. Judging from the crease on his forehead, he seemed to be listening intently. Aragorn strained his hearing, but heard nothing, save the commotion of the others and the fluttering of the tree leaves. Finally, Legolas brushed a hand across his forehead and opened his eyes with a sigh.

"No, the enemy has not reached us yet, but I think we should move on. There is something foul in the air. The trees are silent; nature does not speak to me."

Aragorn seemed vexed at this. "If only unnerving feelings and no physical threat are present, we will stay here. The day's journey has been long enough." With a nod, Aragorn left Legolas and joined Boromir in setting up a camp. Had he looked back, he would have seen Legolas return to the forest with slightly trembling steps. Had he followed the elf, he would have seen Legolas go sit down under a leafy tree and bow his head to his knees.

* * *

Back at the camp, tensions had begun to rise. Gimli, who despite all his wisdom had not yet learned to read Men well enough, had irritated Aragorn by asking about their route ahead.

"Where do you plan to go from here, Master Aragorn? We all know that Gandalf didn't share his travel plans further than this." A quick glance at the hobbits told Aragorn that they had not known.

"Rest assured, Gimli. Gandalf himself had only vague ideas of the road we were going to take. We shall find our way."

"Is that so? How do you suppose we'll even find our way through Emyn Muil? It is an impossible labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks. Even if we made it through, we would be faced with the Dead Marshes, marshlands perilous to those who don't know where the few safe footholds lie. Have you ever trodden paths of the marshlands, Strider?"

Everybody was now watching the argument intently. Boromir seemed only mildly interested, but the hobbits looked uncertain and even a bit frightened. In an unspoken understanding, Merry and Pippin moved closer to each other, while Sam busied himself with the cooking gear. Frodo sat alone, avoiding everybody. His fists were clenched. Aragorn glanced at them all. _Foolish dwarf,_ he cursed to himself. The last thing they needed was for that fool to frighten the Ring-bearer, upon whom the quest lay. Their Company had enough difficulties already. Gimli had hit a sore spot; Aragorn had no idea where they were going to go. Gandalf had not shared his plans.

"You should focus on more present problems, Master Dwarf. This camp needs to be set up before nightfall."

If Gimli was ignorant about the emotional turmoil of Men, so was Aragorn about the proper conduct with the Dwarves. He had trouble realizing the danger in the situation, since his judgment was clouded with past memories and anger at the thought of fallen Gandalf. Gimli narrowed his eyes and straightened his posture. The Dwarves did not take insults lightly, even if they came from men like Aragorn.

"I have questioned you about the route ahead, Aragorn. As a member of this Fellowship, I am entitled to know the travel plan. Or do you not have one? Are you leading us blindly?"

That was an open challenge. Gimli was too obstinate to stand down, once he had gotten into the argument. Aragorn was not about to stand down and let the dwarf question his leader's abilities, even if he was second-guessing himself. Aragorn rose to his full height and measured Gimli with his eyes. Gimli did not avert the challenge.

"What would a dwarf know about traveling here? When did Gimli son of Glóin become the one to lead this Fellowship?"

The youngest hobbits drew back just noticeably. Sam stared at Aragorn in bewilderment. Frodo tensed. Even Boromir seemed to feel awkward. "Aragorn, I do not think that—" he started carefully.

"Stay out of this, Boromir."

"There is no reason—"

"I said, stay out!"

"Enough!" Frodo cried in horror and leapt to his feet. "What is wrong with you? Do we not have enough enemies without making any amongst ourselves?" Frodo turned his back and fled from the camp.

All fell quiet. Aragorn and Gimli were still standing, facing each other. Finally, Aragorn blinked several times. The dark shroud that had covered his thinking shattered, and he realized everybody was staring at him. He took an uncertain step and tried to ignore the ache in his temples.

"Boromir..." He looked at the man. "Boromir, will you...?" Aragorn gestured toward the forest where Frodo had disappeared.

"I will go after Frodo," Boromir said and left.

Aragorn stared after Boromir until the man was out of seeing distance. He slowly turned toward the others, who were looking at him in wonder. He averted their gaze and started walking away.

"I must be alone," he whispered, and then he was gone.

* * *

Boromir had no trouble finding Frodo's tracks and following them. A few broken branches and faint footprints made the tracking easy. He wished he would have had time to take all of his weaponry with him; walking in the forest nearly unarmed made him uneasy. That could not be helped now. He had to find the halfling before any harm could come to either of them. When he again struck his head on a low bough, he cursed Aragorn and their foolish mission. Just as he was about to lose his patience, he spotted Frodo sitting on a flat stone.

"Frodo?" he said as he approached the halfling carefully.

"Are you alone?" asked Frodo.

"I am."

"I do not wish to return, not yet."

"I understand your wish for solitude, but we must go back. It is not safe for you to wander by yourself. Only the slightest lapse could be the ruin of this quest."

Frodo sighed dejectedly and stood up. Together, the two started walking back to the camp. Frodo walked with his head bowed, but after a while he started thinking that something was wrong. Boromir kept staring at him. Frodo halted and turned to face the man. Boromir halted as well, and gazed intently at him, or rather at something below Frodo's face. With a start, Frodo realized that the Ring had slipped from under his coat and undercoat and was now shining in full view on its chain. He quickly covered the Ring, and Boromir shook out of his reverie.

"The Ring... Frodo, do you even realize what power it holds?"

"Why do you ask, Boromir? The Ring is evil. Any power in it is evil."

"It does not have to be evil."

Startled by the intensity of his stare, Frodo stepped back. "Do not cherish such thoughts. Remember what Gandalf said: the Ring cannot be used for good. All in the Council agreed with him. Aragorn—"

"Gandalf!" cried Boromir. "Aragorn," he sneered. "One is dead; the other cannot even keep in peace with his own. Why do you accept such leadership? There are more paths to be chosen than the perilous one we have followed."

"Do not speak such things, Boromir. Come, we must return to the campsite." Frodo hastened his walk, but Boromir stopped him by grabbing his arm. Frodo glared at the hand holding him, and Boromir released him quickly. The man kneeled down so that their faces were at the same level. A pair of eager eyes met a frightened pair.

"Listen to me, Frodo. There is an alternative to this folly. You cannot succeed in unmaking the Ring without destroying yourself and your friends. We, you and I, can and will wield the Ring's power and use it against the enemy. Come with me to Minas Tirith, and that will be the end of your troubles."

"No, Boromir. I cannot. The Ring cannot be used for good. You know that."

"Know?" sneered Boromir. His tone was scornful and venomous. "What do I know? I know what an old wizard and the Elves have told me. It is easy for the Elves to act in their self-righteous manner. They can always flee to their secret lands beyond and leave us mortals to solve our own problems. It is not their concern. It is not the blood of their kind that has stained the White City of Gondor."

"There is Aragorn—"

"Speak not that name," said Boromir angrily. "What has he done for this Fellowship? He led us to both Moria and Lórien, against my wishes. He claims the rights of heir of Gondor, but not once has he spilled his blood for our country; not once has he risked his life for the White City. Is that the kind of man you trust?"

"The foul Ring-spell is clouding your judgment. You are not seeing things clearly. You—"

Frodo's plea was cut in mid-sentence. Boromir grabbed his arm angrily and spoke with passion.

"I see it clearly for the first time. Why did I not see this earlier? This is all some foul trick of the Elves that they planned to the ruin of us all. They are in league with the enemy. Think, Frodo: we left from Rivendell and passed through Lothlórien. We saw tens of fit elven warriors. An Elf-lord by the name of Glorfindel was present at the Council. While there, I learned that he and the likes of his possess magic powers and see the world of the enemy as clear as I see in bright daylight. Why did he not come with us? Why have none of the Elves joined our cause?"

"We have Legolas," said Frodo, struggling from the tight grip. The grip did not falter.

"A messenger from a distant realm? That is all the Elves have done to help us!" spat Boromir.

"Release me! Your grip hurts."

"Let me have the Ring, and I will let you walk into your own ruin. If you refuse to follow me and aid my people, you deserve what is coming to you."

Boromir reached toward the chain from which the Ring was hung. Frodo acted without thinking: he dodged and bit Boromir on the hand has hard as he could. Boromir let go of him, yelping in pain. Frodo took off running and the man pursued. Frodo ran back toward the camp, diving under low branches, which slowed down his pursuer. Boromir cursed under his breath and did his best to keep up with Frodo. In his anger, he failed to dodge a thick branch that blocked his way. He hit his head hard and lost consciousness.

**T.B.C...?**

* * *

Review, please. It won't take much of your time, but it would make my day. Reviews on the story have lately been few...

**Huge** **thanks** to **al** (alliwantisanelfforchristmas) for the beta'ing. I owe her a lot for spending countless hours in front of computer just so that I could have my story. Thank you, nin mellon.

**Published** September 12, 2003. Revised 2010.


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